


Take the Low Road

by shoemaster



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Pass Shoot Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/pseuds/shoemaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Jeff makes Eric question his commitment to the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Low Road

**Author's Note:**

> For pass_shoot_porn round 2, prompt "not my (sibiling)'s keeper". Uhh, this came from there, it really did. It jut took a few turns and doubled back.
> 
> Thanks to go_gentle for coaxing me through the scrapped version and a rushed once over after I wrote most of this on my phone. And to Jeff Skinner for being a rage machine sometimes.
> 
> Title from Metro Station's Control. Don't worry guys, I judge me, too.

Eric hates to lose.

Or maybe Eric just thinks he hates to lose, because sometimes Jeff makes him question his commitment to the game.

"Does he have some kind of complex or something?" Sutter asks, as they watch Jeff slash at the feet of Tyler Myers, who has to have at least a foot on him.

"At least it's not Pronger again," Eric says as Jeff's sent sputtering and cursing to the penalty box.

There's only six minutes left in the game and they're down by three, so it isn't a back breaking penalty - Jeff's good at avoiding those most nights when he gets like this. If only because he doesn't get like this until after their backs are broken.

He's just so fucking passionate about the game and Eric can see the intensity in his face even as he sips from the water bottle in the penalty box. It makes him want to win every game for Jeff, want to see what it'll be like when that intensity and determination is rewarded with the ultimate prize. Eric sometimes feels like he won his last cup for Rod, but now he wants to win the next one for Jeff.

Buffalo scores again with fifteen seconds left in the power play, and they have to listen to the damn goal horn again. Jeff nods to Muller as he gets back to the bench but won't even look at Eric.

The game winds down in inevitability: there's no point in pulling Cam, and while they try to score to make it respectable, there's no time to come back from 6-2.

 

They exit the ice quickly and head for the showers. Eric takes his fast, so he can deal with the media and just get on the fucking bus back to the hotel. Jeff does the same, and Eric's fucking proud of him, even as he can see the line of tension still running through Jeff's shoulders. But his voice is calm and steady as ever.

Eric passes by Gleason on the bus to sit next to Jeff, who doesn't bother taking off his headphones. Which is fine, Eric wasn't planning on having this talk with the rest of the guys around anyway. And apparently Jeff is in a sharing mood because Eric can hear the songs he's listening to just fine.

All it takes is a nod to McBain in the hotel lobby for him to detour to the hotel bar with some of the Finns while Eric follows Jeff to the elevator. Neither of them speak as the numbers tick higher, but Eric watches Jeff in the brass reflection of the doors.

"I know what you're going to say," Jeff says as Eric follows him to his room.

"Okay."

"So can you just not?" 

"I'm not saying anything," Eric says.

They can skip that part tonight. Besides,  it's easy to crowd Jeff back against the closet door and kiss him, hard and insistent. Jeff grunts and shoves Eric back against the opposite wall harder than is necessary considering it's only three feet away.

Jeff's kiss is bruising and angry, and Eric just takes it because Jeff needs this release here and now, before they fly down to New York tomorrow for another tough game against the Rangers.

He's pliant as Jeff pushes against him, pushing back just enough to make Jeff work for it and burn off some of his frustration. The friction as the push against each other is doing the trick, and it's not long before Eric's hard and wanting more than just stress relief for Jeff.

"You don't have to do this," Jeff says after biting Eric's bottom lip. 

He's already undoing Eric's belt, so it takes Eric a minute to respond. "You're kidding me, right?"

Jeff drops to his knees and god, Eric should be used to this sight by now, but he's beginning to think he never will. Jeff's still got his fucking tie on. Fuck.

The first time they did this, Eric had been a little bit nervous about letting someone that pissed near his dick with their teeth. But Jeff just leaves the bites and bruises on Eric's inner thighs, in places the guys don't see, because no one else in the room cares about Eric's junk.

It can make putting his jock on the next day a little difficult. Especially after nights like this one where Jeff seems intent on laying hickeys over the faint red lines left by the elastic.

"Fuck, Jeff," Eric gasps as his hips jerk and his cock brushes against Jeff's cheek.

"Don't," Jeff says even as he wraps a hand around Eric's dick and takes the head into his mouth.

Eric doesn't know if Jeff meant don't move or don't speak. Both are a challenge, but he really does try. He swallows his gasps and moans while Jeff uses his free arm to pin Eric's hips to the wall. 

Jeff is sucking hard enough that it almost hurts, but only almost, and Eric wants to reach out and touch him. To see if a hand in his hair would be welcome, or knocked away.

But he keeps his hands fisted at his sides as Jeff works him over until Eric is desperate and panting. 

There's no light in the room except what's coming through the crack under the door and a hint of street lights through the curtain. So when Jeff drops his arm from Eric's hips it takes a minute for him to realize where it went.

"Oh, fuck, Jeff, no. Wait, you gotta let me -"

But Jeff ignores him, his eyes falling shut as he jerks himself off and moans around Eric's cock.

It's enough to push Eric to his limit, seeing and hearing Jeff like that while he's on his knees for Eric. "Jeff, I'm gonna. You gotta -"

Jeff doesn't back off - maybe because he doesn't want to, maybe because he doesn't want Eric coming on the suit jacket he wants to wear tomorrow - he just keeps his mouth on Eric, taking it and swallowing until Eric feels completely wrung out.

His hamstrings feel like rubber as he leans against the wall, dick hanging out as Jeff pulls back and goes to work on himself.

"Jeff, wait, let me. I want to -"

Jeff moans loudly enough that Eric hopes no one is walking down the hall right now. "Fuck, Eric. You're so -" he hisses as his shoulders jerk. There's nothing but panting from Jeff and Eric assumes he's come.

He fumbles for the light switch and winces when three lamps go on at once. But he can really see Jeff, still kneeling half in his pants, lips swollen and as red as his cheeks. If it were physically possible, Eric would be ready to go again based on the visual alone.

Instead he pulls his pants back up with a sigh and offers Jeff a hand up.

"Maybe take another shower," he says, running a hand down the side of Jeff's neck.

"Can't we just -"

Eric shakes his head. "McBain will be back soon."

"I hate road trips," Jeff mutters.

He doesn't mind them as much when they're winning, but Eric knows better than to point that out now. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Eric heads back to his room trying to think of ways to split the Rangers D that don't involve concussing his brother again. He doesn't want another night like tonight.

At least, not on the ice.


End file.
